Home Is Where the Heart Is
by Minxy 12
Summary: Sherlock and John met years before ASiP and are married. Sherlock is there for his husband in his time of need. Army!John Rated T because of war and violence implied. One-shot but may be more, and the story is better (hopefully) than what it sounds Chapter 3 - an alternative to Sherlock's reaction to John being in hospital
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own any characters**

 **May be a one-shot or a mini series of books but haven't decided, enjoy**

 **Minxy 12**

 **Home Is Where the Heart Is**

He could remember it just like yesterday when he and John H. Watson met. The blurred and thrill of the chase as it burned through his veins chasing the latest serial killer in the area. He'd been cocky and instead of using his gifted mind and high intelligence to catch the killer, he had instead been led into a trap and held at gun point. He remembered the pounding of his heart and the almost doubt he felt when he appeared.

As if out of nowhere the dusty brown, slightly short man appeared, no older than twenty one. He could tell that the man had a troubled upbringing, father in the army and little money to spare if the state of his clothes had anything to do with it. He had appeared on the cracked broken wall behind the killer, silently not even a rustle to alert the criminal of his presences. Then like a cat, graceful and powerful jumped down and grabbed the man, knocking the gun from his hand. It was the start of a beautiful friendship.

* * *

 **3 Years Later**

Ever since that day their friendship had flourished into something a lot more. They had spent months as friends, best friends solving crimes together. They had told each other their aspirations for life and they had fallen in love. Just mere months after they had had that fateful encounter they had run away and eloped. They spent their honeymoon in the privacy of a hidden cottage in Cornwall surrounded by calm and peace, the beautiful countryside and one another.

This had all been secret until Mycroft had found out. The call from Mrs and Mr Holmes arrived on the Monday after their honeymoon, demanding why they weren't invited to their wedding. This of course was solved by the deal of Sunday dinner as with the family when the wedding and marriage of John H. Watson and Sherlock Holmes was celebrated.

Though their newly married life was met with sorrow and sadness 6 months later when John was accepted into the army. His dream of entering the army and training to be a doctor was a dream from day one. A year after acceptance letter he was drafted to Afghanistan. Both Sherlock and John feared that the next time they saw one another it wouldn't be due to anything good

* * *

 **Afghanistan 12 Months Later**

Heavy gun fire sounded around him. Dust and debris was scattered around, screams and shouts of those around him filled the air. Captain John H. Watson was knelt behind the ruins of a ruined tank pressing bandages to the injuries around him. He had called for backup and was currently trying to save the lives of those around him. Images of Sherlock kept flashing before his eyes, his smile, his eyes and hair. His beautiful smile and snarky sarcastic comments that meant so much to him.

Forbidden tears crept into his eyes as the thought and memories continued to fill his eyes. His dirty face started to gain cleaned track marks as his tears slowly begun to clean his face adding a reminded of what was occurring around him.

"Sherlock" he whispered with a sob as his husband continued to occupy his mind filling his thoughts and helping to soothe the fear and panic he was feeling. His hands worked automatically sticking and holding pressure to the wounds of his men around him. The gun fire blurred in his ears as all he could think about was the love of his life.

Heavy noise of the helicopter moving towards them filled his ears, hope filling his heart and soul. He would live. Sherlock.

"Retreat! Run for cover!" he yelled above the noise as he and his men ran for the cover and safety of their ticket to safety. The hot dessert sun leaving his voice hoarse and lips cracked and bleeding. His heart thudded painfully as multiple feet ran towards the helicopter.

As they approached the helicopter hope filled him he had made it. He was alive for another day! The slamming of the door startled him they had made it. He watched as the battle continued below him as he and his men left the battle to safety. Dizziness and exhaustion slowly began to dance through his body from his head to his feet and pain erupted from his shoulder and leg.

He slowly moved his head down to look at his shoulder and saw bright crimson liquid start to stain his uniform. His leg held a not much better gruesome wound. He had been shot. He grabbed his shoulder and swayed with dizziness. His actions had grabbed the attention around him.

"Sir? Captain are you alright? Medic! We need a medic over here!"

That was the last thing that John heard before darkness and pain consumed him.

* * *

 **London**

"So Sherlock what happened here, how did the woman die?" Lestrade said as he looked at the woman in front of him. Pale skin, red lips and red hair. She laid with her arms crossed and a black dress on.

"Don't be an idiot it's simple the gardener killed her with the fork, see the mud on her shoe? She's been having an affair with the gardener and she ended it when her husband nearly found out. Out of revenge and spit he killed her. It was really simp-" He was cut off when his phone began to ring.

 _ **Mycroft**_

"What do you want now? I'm busy." Sherlock greeted.

"John's been shot. He's being transferred to St Bart's as we speak. He's been discharged from the army. He's coming home Sherlock. For go." Mycroft stated gently as he broke the news to Sherlock.

Sherlock shut up. He John was hurt? Shot? Oh God

"When?" was his only heartbroken reply when he thought of his husband being alone, scared and injured.

"30 minutes until he arrives at St Bart's, he has a private room ready and the best medical team we have. Tell him it's good to have him home, I just wish it wasn't in this way. I'll see you tomorrow brother mine" and just like that the line went dead.

Without saying another word Sherlock turned and left almost running out the door ignoring the cries of those around him. He had to get to John.

* * *

 **St Bart's 30 minutes later**

He ran into the room and saw the freshly settled John Watson in his bed. Not many people knew that they were married he thought as he watched the doctor write WATSON in capital letters on the whiteboard by the bed. _WATSON-HOLMES_ he thought bitterly as the doctor left.

The beeping of the heart monitor and the bed occupied by a much smaller husband than he remembered drew in his attention. Wires, thousands of wires were attached to his small but yet incredibly brave and strong husband lay. His left arm was in a sling. Shot. His right leg was wrapped in a cast and most probably held multiple stitches, most probably the same with his shoulder.

His face was slightly dirty, the remaining dust and dirt from the battle. Sherlock quickly walked over and sat on the side chair next to the bed. His husband blended into much with the white hospital sheet, he was too pale. He grabbed the thin hand and held the limp hand between both of his stronger and sturdier hands. His lips pressing multiple imprints on to the skin in front.

Time seemed to blend into mere minutes when his husband begun to slowly awake.

"Shrlck" he muttered as eyes begun to move quickly underneath closed eyelids. Sherlock gently shushed him as he stroked his hair and hands gently in encouragement. John's head slowly fell to the side facing in Sherlock's direction, his eyes slowly opening staring at Sherlock.

"John, you with me?" he whispered gently never stopping the gentle caress of his hand through John's hair. A weak nod and groan of confirmation echoed around the bare and empty room.

"Shush you're alright sweetheart don't try and talk, just sleep, rest and recover. You're home now, safe and sound. I'm not going anywhere ok? I'm here, shush" His voice lulling John back into a peaceful sleep a small smile etched onto his tired and pale skin.

"I'm not going anywhere, my home is where my heart is John. You're my heart. You're my home." Sherlock whispered more to himself than to John a gentle and loving smile directed at John in front of him who slept on unaware of the rare sentimental emotion shown from Sherlock.

"You're home."

* * *

 **FIN**

 **Follow**

 **Favourite**

 **Review**

 **Thanks Minxy 12**


	2. Scotland Yard meet John Watson

AN: sorry about the wait. Please excuse any mistakes. I do not own this, and beware that there is some swearing

Sally Bashing

Scotland Yard Meet John Watson

 _ **3 weeks after John's return**_

It was a normal Friday morning. The streets were full of life, taxis driving, couples shouting and the loud background noise that just screamed 'London'. The inside of 221B Baker Street was the opposite. For once it was eerily quiet, with only the inconsistent sounds of dripping water from the kitchen tap. The table was set up in the normal way, test tubes here and there, tea pots full of what seemed to be some strong form of acid, and the numerous cold case files that were flung across the table.

A human stirred within the flat. Mumbling incoherent words and twisting slightly in order to gain some of the lost feeling in their arms. The blue eyes of one Sherlock Holmes opened slowly as he awoke from his deep sleep. _Sleep? Since when did Sherlock Holmes sleep?_ Sherlock thought as he tried to process what was happening around him. _This is why I do not sleep! It slows the cognitive processes, slowing the mind… It's completely infuriating_ Sherlock thought as he looked around the room. His eyes were scanning for any pieces that may indicate that the room was different than the night before. Looking for any data that could indicate a disturbance. _Nothing. Was I drugged? Why was I asleep?_ Sherlock's eyes snapped to his right as he heard a grunt. _John._

John Watson. Sherlock remembered now. He remembered why he willingly went to sleep. Why he was willing to slow down his brain function. His husband, his beautiful, clever and amazing husband was there. It was over just a week since John had been released into his care, and 3 weeks since he had received that dreaded phone call to tell him his precious John had been injured. _I could have lost him._ Sherlock thought to himself. The thought sent a shooting pain right through him, hurting his heart deeply (metaphorically of course, there is no science behind that). He bent his head, his eyes flickering over John in order to check for any details that could suggest that something was off with him, something that may be slowing down his healing process. _Nothing. Everything is healing as it should be. Good._

Sherlock wrapped his arm around John, ensuring that he was gentle to his still healing shoulder, trying not to dislodge the sling that held his arm comfortably across his shoulder. He bent his head laying a soft kiss over John's forehead, ensuring that light pressure was applied as not to disturb the healing bruises that littered his face still. John's eyes flittered open, and his eyes locked with Sherlock's. His mouth stretched into a large grin, wrinkling his eyes and pulling at the small cuts and grazes on his face. It didn't bother him though.

"Good morning gorgeous" John muttered as he lent forward careful of his arm, and placed a firm and passionate kiss onto Sherlock's lips.

"Good morning my brave soldier" Sherlock replied, happiness evident in his voice. John may no longer be a soldier, but he was always going to be one in Sherlock's heart, nothing was going to change that. Ever.

 _ **4 hours later**_

Four hours later, we now see Sherlock and John in the living room of 221B. There are several plates left empty on the chair side table, evidences of their late breakfast. The small black crumbs indicating that Sherlock's previous experiment with the toaster had led to burnt toast within 30 seconds. _Again._ There was a pot of tea and two mugs that was freshly brewed, with several digestive biscuits on the side. Both men were sitting in their chairs, case studies on their laps as they reviewed the cold cases that Scotland Yard had yet to solve.

"Honestly John Scotland Yard must be full of idiots! It's obvious that the English teacher killed the victim after they had an argument on the previous parent's evening. The parent had a compliant about their teaching and it led to their murder. I mean honestly who else would smother the victim and stab them if not and English teacher?! I mean come on, this is obviously a bad remake of Othello, and even I know that!" Sherlock's disbelief was apparent on his face and shocked voice as he glanced at the case.

"Brilliant! Sherlock I didn't know you read Shakespeare. I thought that took up too much storage?" John said laughing to himself as he imagined the detective reading a Shakespeare play and criticising the many flows. "Do I detect a liking to Shakespeare?" amusement was evident in his voice.

Sherlock scoffed. "Don't be an idiot John, of course not. It comes in handy for ridiculous cases such as this one. This wasn't even a 2." John gave him a look that showed he didn't believe him.

 _ **Beep beep**_

Sherlock turned his gaze to his phone on the table before him as the light lit up with a new message:

 _Sherlock,_

 _Two people found dead._

 _Please come and have a look._

 _The look as if they have been poisoned but not physical marks, nor any poison detected in blood stream._

 _GL_

John looked at Sherlock eyebrow raised in question.

"Well?" he asked knowing the answer but waiting for a verbal response from the man he loved.

"Looks like we are going out John."

 _ **Crime Scene**_

Both men arrived at the crime scene. Jumping out of the taxi, or hobbling out in John's case, both men walked over to the tap that blocked the public from the crime scene. Sherlock ensure that he had an arm supporting John, his left arm gently wrapped around John's waist, allowing him to place his body weight on Sherlock, but letting him use his cane at the same time.

Sally stood by the tape waiting, a smirk on her face.

"What are you doing here freak?" she asked knowing fully well why he was there, but wanting to insult Sherlock. John tensed as he heard the insult, his face pinking slightly in anger. Sherlock's firm grip was the only thing stopping him from saying something, and stopping him from slapping the evil bitch.

"How's the cleaning in Anderson's house coming along Sally? Those knees do not look any better. I hope his floors are in better condition than those knees" Sherlock stated calmly. It took everything to stop John from laughing at the undignified face of Sally.

"Who's this freak?" She asked rudely pointing to John. "Another freak like you? Brought one of your sick and twist friends to look at dead bodies. I bet you both get off on this. You're sick freaks, the both of you!"

Surprisingly it was not John who responded but Sherlock. He leaped forward, careful not to dislodge John and slapped Sally hard across her face. Her head turned so quickly and sharply with the impact that a sicking click could be heard as her neck was knocked forcefully. She slowly moved her head back to look at Sherlock and John, neck stiff from the Sherlock induced whiplash.

"How dare you talk about my husband like that!" Sherlock didn't shout, but his voice was slightly raised and cold. "Neither me nor my husband are freaks. I was asked here today to help you with a case that is so simple that I solved it in the taxi on the way here. I only came so that I could get my injured husband out for some air and a case." Sherlock gestured at John behind him, who was smiling proudly at his husband.

"My husband, the freak as you called him was recently honourably discharged from the army. He fought to help ensure that innocent people were safe in a war torn country, who are not as lucky are we are. You called a brave, loyal and compassionate army doctor a freak. You call me a fellow detective a freak. You are nothing but a nasty, jealous, sick, twisted and bitter old bitch who will wither away and die a lonely death." Sally stared at Sherlock fear evident in her eyes, a large red hand print was on her face.

A crowd of police officers stood around the trio, not knowing whether or not to interfere. Many of them however looked as if they agreed with Sherlock, agreement was written on their faces.

Sherlock continued. "You make me sick. You are nothing but a spiteful hypocrite. You are the Freak, and I feel sorry for you. You will never be as lucky as I am, as clever as I am or as good at the job as I am." John smiled.

Sherlock turned away from the now crying Sally and kissed John passionately, cheers erupting from the crowd that had gathered. Greg Lestrade was watching from the doorway of the crime scene pretending to turn a blind eye from what had just occurred. _She did deserve it_.

Sherlock looked at Lestrade and shouted "Both died of carbon monoxide poisoning, they lived in a flat not far from here. The landlord panicked and moved them. He's guilty." With than Sherlock and John both turned away from the crime scene, hands firmly grasped in one another as they slowly walked to the main road to look for the nice Chinese they had passed on the way there,

Lestrade turned to Sally. "Don't doubt Sherlock. He loves John, I can see that. Heed my warning, I will not tolerate bullying again Sally, I have let it continue much longer than I should have. I will be apologising to Sherlock and John tomorrow. I expect you to apologise. You are suspended from active duty for two weeks. Maybe this will teach you to have more professionalism."

What none of them knew was that a CCTV camera had been pointing at them, and in an office not far from the area, Mycroft Holmes was sitting in his leather chair eating popcorn, laughing at the scene he had just witnessed.

 _Well done Brother Mine._


	3. Waiting for a sign

_**Sherlock's arrival after hearing that John had returned**_

Waiting for a sign

 _Thud, thump, thud, thump._ Sherlock's heart was going a hundred miles an hour (physically impossible), as he neared the door of John's hospital room. His eyes flickered to his left and right, emptiness filling his peripheral vision. The corridor was silent. No individual was around. _Mycroft_. Sherlock thought to himself. _It must be Mycroft's doing._ No matter what Sherlock said about his brother, deep, deep, very deep down, Sherlock did love his brother. In his own way of course.

His steady steps faltered as he neared the hospital door, the only barrier between him and his husband. He raised his hand slowly, eyes narrowing at his shaky hand as he placed light pressure on the door. He look a steading and calming breath and slowly pushed the door open, trying not to disturb the sleeping habitant within the plain room. His eyes looked around warily as he took in the half cleaned room, the damp stains on the walls and finally the machines. It looked like hundreds of machines were turned on, working at full speed to aid his husband's recovery. The heart machine was beeping regularly, a slightly raised heart rate flashing on the screen, the multiple IV bags hung from poles and an oxygen tank was switched on, the line leading directly to the mask over his husbands face. Sherlock finally looked to John, his eyes absorbing and processing every inch of his husband.

 _John._ He thought as his heart seemed to break into a thousand pieces as he soaked in his husband. His vulnerable and weak husband. _No, not weak. So very, very strong. My brave soldier._ He looked at his husband's face. Dark mottled bruising was dotted around his face, covering his cheeks, neck and forehead. Multiple small cuts littered his face, breaking the skin, the result of debris from Afghanistan. His pale pink lips dry and chapped, covered by the fogging oxygen mask, proving to Sherlock that he was still alive, still breathing. His eyes were shut, eyebrows relaxed in his sleep, not a care within the world. He glances up at the IV, _the morphine is keeping his pain away – good._

His eyes trailed down John's covered chest to the raised lump under the covers. His left arm was pulled over is chest holding his opposite shoulder, bound tightly in a sling. He looked at the red stained bandages that covered his shoulder, a sharp reminded that John had been shot. _Shot. John. Shot._ The two words seemed to echo in his mind as imagined a sad and lonely life without John. _No, never, I could never live without John. I would rather die than live without John_. Dark thoughts of his previous life before John flashed behind his eyes, sorrow consuming him as the reality of nearly losing John hit him.

He slowly walked towards his sleeping husband, the constant beeping of the heart machine anchoring him to reality. He sat slowly in the unoccupied bed beside John and readjusted the sheets that had started to come out of place. He reached with shaky hands for the thin sheet as he pulled it gently over his husbands frame, tucking the edges around his thin shoulders. _He needs to eat more._ Sherlock thought as he noticed the weight that John was lacking from his last visit home. He reached for the hand holding the IV and grasped it gently but firmly in his hand. His heart breaking at the bruises on John's fingers. _His beautiful John. Why did it have to happen to his beautiful John?_

John's hands were warm in his hands. Sherlock felt a weight he hadn't thought he had lift from his shoulders as he felt the warmth seeping into his slightly cold hands.

He looked up at the sky, not normally religious and thought _please, give me a sign that John will be alright. Let him get well. Let him come home to me. Please._

He sighed looking around the room taking in the old and uncared for room. _How many people had died in here? How many people have cried over a loved one in this very room?_ He shook his head, ridding the dark thought from his head. He wouldn't be losing John. He just wouldn't. His husband was a fighter. He was a strong and brave soldier who fought with his whole heart and soul. He was just John.

He turned his head back to his husband, categorising all the marks and blemishes on his face, noticing how his husband had changed over the past 6 months since he had last saw him.

 _ **6 months ago**_

 _ **Heathrow airport – 18.00**_

Sherlock jumped out of the black car that was waiting outside 221B an hour before (Mycroft had his usefulness), and made his way to the arrival lounge. His long coat helped to create a dramatic flair, helping to clear his path. _John, John was coming back._ Ok so maybe he was only back for two weeks, but still a lot could happen in two weeks! He checked his watch impatiently _**18.04**_ , the hands on the clock read. The watch seemed to be taunting him, mocking him. John was due to arrive at 18.15, it felt like a lift time.

He stood by the arrival doors watching as many anxious people arrived, forming a crowd waiting for many of the soldiers to return for their short break. He watched a young woman _young, pregnant, due in 3 months, waiting to tell the father face-to-face._ Interesting Sherlock thought as he watched the young woman wriggle around on the spot, her foot tapping an unstructured pattern. The tapping seeming to add mocking to his slow ticking hand. _**18.14**_.

His face remained emotionless as he waited for the doors to open and for the army to flood into the busy arrivals lounge. A large crowd was gathered, a frantic atmosphere filling the air. _**Crack.**_ His eyes turned suddenly to the doors as they slowly creaked open. _John_. Suddenly many men started to fill into the room, a massive applause filling the air, crying women and sobbing children was heard as many were reunited with their loved ones.

"Sherlock!" Sherlock snapped back to reality as he heard John's voice shout him. He turned looking at his husband. He hadn't changed much. _More tanned, lost small amount of weight, tired, sexu-_ a smile spread wide across Sherlock's face as he sprinted to his husband wrapping him into a tight embrace. He pulled out of the hug suddenly, pulling John's face towards him, his two hands framing his newly shaven face. He analysed John's face taking everything in. Absorbing all the data, and slowly bent his head, laying a passionate kiss onto John's slightly chapped lips. He tasted the sun and sand of Afghanistan, nothing could have been more perfect than that moment. They pulled apart.

"I love you John Watson" he said smiling, face resting on John's shoulder.

"I love you too Sherlock Holmes."

 _ **Back to present day**_

A slight movement brought Sherlock back to reality. The warm hand held within his own was slowly moving. His heart sped up at the thought of his husband waking up. He watched as John's eyes opened slowly, wincing as bright artificial light entered his eyes. He watched as they flickered around uneasily absorbing disjointed information.

John's eyes locked with his own, hazy with morphine, but recognition shining in his eyes.

"I love you John." He whispered, gently raising John's hand to his mouth pressing a gentle kiss onto the bruised fingers.

A weak smile filled John's face as he slowly pulled off the oxygen mask and mumbled a confused and disjointed "I lv u too Sherlk." Sherlock's eyes became wet with unshed tears as his heart felt lighter at the declaration of love.

He watched as John slipped back into a morphine induced sleep, looking up at the sky he thought _thank you for showing me a sign that thing will be fine._

He continued to watch John until he next awoke, looking like a vigilant guardian angel, protecting him from any harm that may come to him.

 _I love you John_

 _ **Thank you**_

 _ **Minxy12**_

 _ **Review**_

 _ **Favourite**_

 _ **Follow**_


End file.
